Kadhum Alhajjaj, is an Iraqi poet who was born in the southern province of Basra, 1942. His academic Bachelor degree is in Shariia and Art and was acquired from the University of Baghdad. His first poem collection ( At last Shahrayar speaks out) was released in Baghdad in 1973. The second was entitled (Basra Rhythms) Baghdad, 1987. Then other collections followed till 2011. Kadhum also wrote a book on Anthropology ( Women and sex between Myth and Religion) the book was printed in Beirut 2002. He also was a playwright, where three out of his four plays were performed and two were granted awards. After twenty eight years of being an educator, now retired, he writes a weekly column (Baharat= spices) in the Basra ( Alakhbar Journal) since its foundation in August 2003. Kadhum Alhajjaj, is an Iraqi poet who was born in the southern province of Basra, 1942. His academic Bachelor degree is in Shariia and Art and was acquired from the University of Baghdad. His first poem collection ( At last Shahrayar speaks out) was released in Baghdad in 1973. The second was entitled (Basra Rhythms) Baghdad, 1987. Then other collections followed till 2011. Kadhum also wrote a book on Anthropology ( Women and sex between Myth and Religion) the book was printed in Beirut 2002. He also was a playwright, where three out of his four plays were performed and two were granted awards. After twenty eight years of being an educator, now retired, he writes a weekly column (Baharat= spices) in the Basrah ( Alakhbar Journal) since its foundation in August 2003.

chosen parts of Kadhum Alhajjaj's poems

Here we have chosen some parts of Kadhum's lovely poem: "come to my tavern" from his collection that was published in Bghdad , 2005, which was entitled (Unlike other things)...

Come to my tavern By Kadhum Alhajjaj Come back to Uruk*! And ask your mother Ninsun,*descendant of gods to open her mouth and speak with the creators of Uruk: -Do not exhaust your sacred hands In creating grasshoppers for the crops of Uruk! Nor flies for its dates Nor lice for the heads of its poor! Rather, gather the mud that was meant for creating Grasshoppers, flies and lice To create some legs for the sons of Uruk you lamed by your curse for those you gave life to but made blind. ---------------------- May their daughter Ninsun, ask them Not to deny strength to any man, but make more powerful the boar of the marshes. ----------- Uruk is tired of people without eyes and legs of feeding its boars with victims! May your wise mother ask them not to be more cruel with the village than its scholars, not to be more destructive than its tyrants. Let them not be gods of evil and calamities entertained by earthquakes that overturn poor people’s pots when they are cooking nor sparing the mothers a moment to draw sheets over their cold children. And ask them not to take pleasure in drought and aridity as they wrinkle the cheeks of Uruk and prevent heaven’s waters from refreshing its wheat! - - - - I invite you before you return to Uruk to visit my tavern and there to acquire the wisdom of kings. Sip from your tumbler and your sadness will vanish to drain away through your feet you may trample it down if you wish --------------- And see! Uruk’s beggar wandering through the market calling on his dignity! How he sells it for a slice of bread By some insulted and granted it by another but even when granted… insulted! --------- See as he enters my tavern at dusk: I have ordered my waiter to prepare the finest table for him and to address him as Master! When the beggar drinks up and prepares to leave, I signal to my waiter to ask him for a tip. Do you know, my son, how a beggar restores his dignity by giving --------------- He leaves my tavern tripping with his emerging dignity, like that of the poor when given a festival cloak by the rich -------- Behold the man of Uruk, insulted by his woman every morning. I won’t let my waiter attend on him I will do it myself to make up for his woman’s denial. For a whole hour, I turn my back to everyone but him. When he finishes his drink and is ready to leave I plant a sister’s kiss upon his cheek and let him think whatever he pleases! ---------- Come to my tavern, my son And there, you will learn how the wise king deals with his people .

Original Arabic poem by Kadhum Alhajjaj Translated by Amal Ibrahim and kindly revised by George Szirtes